


Bilateral Treaty Negotiations

by incognitajones



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal, Political Alliances, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21617704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitajones/pseuds/incognitajones
Summary: Bail didn't understand why he'd been invited to this gathering: every guest was single, politically or artistically accomplished (or just wealthy), and in the right age bracket to become the spouse of Breha of Alderaan.Why was he on the list of potential suitors?
Relationships: Bail Organa/Breha Organa
Comments: 34
Kudos: 84
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	Bilateral Treaty Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts).



As soon as he handed his invitation to the protocol droid for scanning and stepped inside the Royal Palace of Alderaan, Bail realized this gala, announced as a celebration of the coming of spring, was actually a job interview. 

Other than a few older couples who were long-time personal friends of the reigning Queen Berezi, every guest here tonight was single, politically or artistically accomplished (or just wealthy), and in the right age bracket to become the spouse of Breha of Alderaan. 

So he had obviously been invited as part of the screening process; it was the only explanation that made sense, even though Bail didn’t quite understand how he’d ended up on the list of potential suitors. He was neither particularly rich nor well-connected. His family name was old and honourable enough, but they were merely minor nobility, known on Alderaan mostly for their mountainous homeland that produced little of note but fine wines and skilled pilots. 

He took another sip of his emerald wine (not as good as last year’s vintage from the family estate, he decided loyally) and scanned the crowded reception room discreetly. Life size formal portraits of past Vicereines and Viceroys lined the walls, and he found himself eyeing the painted faces, wondering which of them had lived up to their reputation and which had been utterly different behind the scenes. Everyone knew, for example, that Vicereine Milena and King Jokin had cordially loathed each other. Their rival families jockeying for power had led to a civil insurrection and the rewriting of the constitution.

Well, Bail wouldn’t be the next Viceroy. Not only was he barely qualified, he was probably the oldest unmarried person there—not old enough to be unsuitable, but he couldn’t imagine Breha being interested in someone his age. Maybe his Aunt Basilea had strong-armed the Organas into inviting him; she had inflated ideas of their family's importance. 

But he was here, so he might as well enjoy the refreshments and the surroundings. It had been a long time since Bail had been on his home planet long enough to make a visit to the palace, and the view from the broad terrace facing the slopes of Mount Aldera was breathtaking. He turned in that direction and almost knocked over a serving droid balancing a tray of hors d’oeuvres on its flat top. “Sorry!” he said, automatically, and put out a hand to ensure that the tray didn’t tip over and fall. 

The droid beeped thanks at him and proffered its tray higher. Bail took a morsel of smoked glimmerfish for politeness and continued his path toward the terrace, giving the droid a wide berth this time. But he was interrupted again: just as he reached the wide flight of steps leading down through the pillared portico, Magistra Vozget swooped in to intercept him. 

“Bail, my dear! How long has it been since we last spoke? Surely it can’t have been at your mother’s funeral service.”

“I’m afraid so, Magistra.” He smiled, hoping it seemed sincere. He liked the woman, but it was hard not to associate her and most of the nobility of the province with the dark, tense and fraught times of his mother’s illness and passing. She had tried to help, he recalled, offering him advice on who to hire as an estate manager when he returned to the Senate.

“Have you met my wife, Ankine?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure,” he said, bowing over the clawed hand of a tall, willowy Ayrou with a crown of feathery blue hair.

“Charming as always,” the Magistra said. “No doubt what got you an invitation to this cattle call.”

Bail repressed a laugh, tucking a smile away. “I doubt it. I don’t think the Queen even knows my name, and I’m a little unqualified for a royal consort. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m here.”

“Your family is a distinguished one,” Ankine said. “And you have served Alderaan well in the Senate. Merit is occasionally rewarded.”

“Or maybe the Princess has a crush,” the Magistra said, her dark eyes almost disappearing into a web of laughlines as she smiled. “I’ve seen her watching your speeches.”

Mother of the Force, he hoped not. Not the crush part, but the thought of someone watching as he stood before the august body he’d begun to loathe the sight of, mouthing the empty platitudes that were all one could voice these days without attracting the suspicion of certain shadowy figures… that was humiliating. Bad enough that he’d begun to believe his work was useless and for appearances only. The future Queen regarding his performance with a critical eye made him feel nauseous. What would he say when she took the throne and called him before her to demand why he wasn’t fighting for his home planet and the freedom of the entire galaxy, to the fullest extent of his ability?

And how would she react if he told her that he was more and more suspicious of the Chancellor's motives? That he had considered seeking out others to work against him? Even the mention of such a conspiracy would have him brought up on treason charges.

Well, it wasn’t a concern. Because he certainly wasn’t going to tell her. And someday she might ask him for an accounting, but not as her spouse. There was no way he was going to marry Breha Organa, Third of Her Name, Crown Princess of Alderaan. 

In any case, now he desperately needed fresh air and a moment of quiet solitude to regain his composure, before he rejoined the crowd for more meaningless pleasantries. He raised his glass to the Magistra and her wife and left them with a polite farewell.

Outside at last, the air was blessedly fresh and cool. A piquant breeze flowed down from the Juran Mountains, cooling Bail's flushed cheeks and lifting his collar away from his slightly sweaty neck. He drew in a deep breath filled with the scent of snow. The sunset tinted the crescent range of the surrounding peaks in a soft pastel gradient of pink and orange. Coruscant glittered with luxury, Naboo was green and lovely; but to Bail, Alderaan would always be the jewel of the galaxy. 

“Good evening, Senator.” 

Bail didn’t jump at the sound of the princess’s voice, but it was a close thing. 

Breha was alone, for once. She was dressed in the traditional Alderaan manner: a snug-fitting coat with long, tight sleeves and wide skirts that belled out from the waist and stopped at the knees, worn over either a narrow skirt or slim pants depending on the wearer’s preference and the needs of the day. It was considered old-fashioned on other planets, where modern fashion trends were either clinging fabrics that flowed over the body like water, or ornate and heavy robes that emphasized one’s power and wealth.

To Bail, it was simply right; like the planet, it would always be his personal standard for beauty. And there was no doubt that Breha Organa wore it very well. Its simple lines emphasized her perfect posture and the delicacy of her wrists and hands. Her pulmonodes were just visible above the scooped neckline, glowing in a soft counterpoint to the setting sun.

The nagging question of what he was doing here returned. “Good evening, your grace.” He bowed correctly, if belatedly. “Thank you for the invitation. It’s been a very long time since I was able to see Alderaan in the spring, and I’ve missed it.”

“Your work for us has kept you occupied, and it is worth our thanks.” Her voice was low and even, and it wasn’t clear whether she was using the royal we or speaking for the people of Alderaan.

For once, Bail wasn’t sure what to say. The last time he’d spoken to the Crown Princess in person, she’d been fifteen and newly installed as the heir elect. He’d been presented to her as the junior Alderaanian Senator, and favourably impressed with her calm, rapid grasp of essentials. But then, she’d trained since youth for the role. 

Since then, he had dealt mainly with her advisors, although he received the occasional holomessage from her. Seeing her in person was somewhat of a shock; her poise and charisma were a little overwhelming. He felt tongue-tied in a way that rarely happened to him, the practiced politician, who always had a compliment or conversation topic for anyone.

Breha rescued him by asking a question of her own. “You’re wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?”

He studied her face, but she didn’t seem offended. Perhaps a little honesty was allowable, even at a formal event. “I admit to thinking that I seemed a little out of place.”

Breha smiled and offered him her hand. “Walk with me and let us discuss it.”

In confusion, he held out his arm and she linked hers gracefully through it. They pivoted and proceeded at a deliberate pace down the terrace. He realized how cleverly Breha had maneuvered this encounter. They were unimpeachably public, in full sight of the entire reception, yet separated by enough distance that they also had privacy to talk without being overheard. And anyone determined to intrude on this conversation would be seen coming a long way away. 

“My parents invited almost all of the guests,” she said. “The only name I requested was yours.”

Bail swallowed. It still didn’t make sense, but he had to take this seriously. Even if she had some kind of juvenile crush, as the Magistra had put it, the princess was too well-trained in statecraft to consider it a reason to invite him. No, if he was here at her invitation, it was because she considered him a viable candidate (possibly even a favoured one) for the role of her spouse. 

The only thing he could ask was, “Why?”

Her fingers tightened on his arm and her voice fell almost to a whisper. “I see shadows gathering. Signs that concern me a great deal. It seems to me that you are the only other person who takes them seriously enough to help me protect Alderaan. And not only our home, but the rest of the galaxy.”

He nearly dragged a stumbling step over the slickly polished tiles. “I believe that the Republic may be in danger, yes.” 

On Coruscant, it was a topic best avoided or alluded to in brief, flickering asides. Bail knew a few other Galactic Senators saw the long shadow of war approaching, as he did, and feared the strange political undercurrents: mysterious organizations funding Separatist leaders, the schism in the Senate… but were they succumbing to paranoia, or seeing clearly?

“You know the royal consort normally protects the interests of Alderaan in the wider galaxy. Given what I fear may happen in the next few years, I believe that role will be more important than ever. I’ve thought long and hard about who to choose, and I see no-one better than you.” She sounded suddenly uncertain in a way much different than her usual measured tone. “Assuming you find it acceptable. I realize that the prospect may not be to your taste—”

Bail’s head was spinning, but he could still see that Breha was working herself into a state of nerves. He stopped walking and turned to face her, with his back to the long stateroom behind them. “Your grace. My concern is with the fact that you haven’t spoken of this in any sense but the political. Of course you’ve weighed the qualifications of your possible spouses. But don’t you—shouldn’t you—” He stopped and sighed in frustration. This was humiliating, but he didn’t want her to have any misconceptions. “I don’t want you to give up any possibility of personal fulfillment too. The monarch dedicates so much of their life to Alderaan, they shouldn’t have to miss out on any chance of—” He cleared his throat. “Of love.” Let her think him a sentimental fool. 

But she didn’t laugh at him, or look at him as though he were simple. She smiled, a little shyly, an unfamiliar expression that seemed young and hopeful in a way he’d never seen in her role as Crown Princess. “I haven’t given up on that.” Her hand tightened on his arm again. “We don’t know each other well, it’s true, but I have always admired you, Senator. Professionally and—personally.” Her cheeks were flushing slowly with warm colour to match the crimson of her coat, but she didn’t duck her head or look away. She stood straight and held her head proudly. “I think that we could find happiness together. If you find me not entirely unpleasing.”

Bail, on the other hand, had lost all of his composure. He was sure that his eyes were wide with disbelief and he had to remind himself not to let his mouth hang open. He felt as though his entire world had been turned upside down in the last three minutes. Not only had the heir to the throne validated his suspicions and told him that she shared them—that he wasn’t jumping at shadows—she thought highly enough of him for marriage. And not even a simple strategic proposal, but to hear her say that she liked him, admired him… that wasn’t something he’d ever expected to hear. 

As a younger man, Bail hadn’t considered marriage, thinking it better to wait until his career was established. But then, somehow it had never seemed the right time, nor had he met anyone who tempted him to change the well-ordered patterns of his life. Suddenly it had become a very urgent question.

“If I’ve been too precipitate, forgive me,” Breha said, and although she was as composed as ever, a note of loneliness in her voice touched an echoing ache in him. Her grasp on his arm loosened as though she were about to pull away. “Rest assured there is no demand or expectation here. Your position as Senator will remain secure. All I ask is that if you know of another person who could fill this role with the wisdom and balance it requires, please suggest—” 

“No,” he interrupted, though it was shockingly rude to interrupt royalty, and pressed his arm closer to his side to keep her hand there. “Not too precipitate. Merely surprising.” 

He remembered where he was, and that they’d been standing still for too long. He took a hesitant step forward. Breha matched his pace and they proceeded slowly down the terrace, in the honey-golden light of Alderaan's sun.

“So you would not be opposed to the idea?”

Bail took a deep breath. “Not at all. I would be honoured and… and pleased to be your partner. In all things.”

He felt Breha’s tense poise relax into something less stiff and anxious beside him. They reached the end of the terrace, and turned back toward the steps that would take them up to the main reception room. 

“This is a shocking lapse in my political education,” he admitted, “but I don’t know what the next step in a royal courtship is.”

Breha smiled again, wider and more confidently this time. “If the heir is given to understand that her suit is acceptable…”

“It is.” He turned his wrist to clasp their hands together for a moment, between their bodies where it would be hidden from everyone else. 

“Then I ask the Palace to prepare a statement saying that the Crown Princess has found a suitable candidate, and an engagement may be announced in a few months. No names are mentioned,” she added hastily. “And it commits you to nothing. You can still withdraw discreetly.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, your grace.” And he squeezed her fingers for an instant before pulling his hand away. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”

On the other side of the room, Magistra Vozget and her wife paused in their conversation to watch Bail and Breha re-enter the room together. Though they maintained a perfectly decorous pace and a respectful distance from each other, her fingertips barely resting on his forearm, Bail’s smile seemed distracted and there were spots of colour high on Breha’s cheekbones.

“Well. It seems as though the Palace will have an announcement to make in the morning,” Ankine said. 

“You owe me a sizeable amount of credits, my dear,” Vozget said, tickling her wife’s ear feathers playfully. “I told you this would happen.”

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't a lot of EU canon (either old or new) about Breha and Bail's relationship, and what there is is vague & often contradictory, so I ignored most of it and just kept what I liked. For the same reason, in this story Breha has the surname Organa, and Bail takes it when he marries her.


End file.
